Knocking At Door

Satish Verma

I would not bend the 
truth. A grape in mouth 

will stimulate the wedge. 
Night will hammer on my chest 

with glossy fists. I am born 
again in your muteness. 

A ghost line walks with me 
to pull out the delicate verse. 

Everyday a tulip is delivered 
in the folds of woodcraft.